


A Shot or A Kiss

by Depressed_Lemon_Bite



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Klinger is in LOVE my dudes, M/M, Mature just because of Klinger's slightly naughty thoughts, Mentions of Hawk crushing on BJ and Trapper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Depressed_Lemon_Bite/pseuds/Depressed_Lemon_Bite
Summary: “No! No shots,” Klinger tore his gaze away for a moment. He needed a second to think. “I’m-I’m allergic. Blow up like a balloon.”Hawkeye huffed and pulled his hands away to fiddle with his scarf. “Then what do you want? A kiss?”Name a better opportunity to arise.A wide grin split across Klinger’s face. “Now there’s an idea, cap’n. A good idea.”Takes place in S4E4 when Klinger is "shot" and Hawkeye is patching him up. Except, this time it's even gayer and Klinger is really gunning for his crush.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Shot or A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't completed a writing project in a very long time AND this is the first time I've written for MASH so please be gentle with my anxious ass lmao  
> Hope you guys enjoy it!!

Klinger couldn’t help himself. There weren’t many moments like this in the war. Okay, there were, but not for him. He wasn’t lucky enough to get injured. A curse left over from his desperation to survive. For once he caught a break. A bullet in the shoulder bought him a moment alone with the great Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce. If he had been a nurse—one that actually had the education, not just the dress—Klinger was sure this moment would’ve come a lot sooner.

He sat with the shirt removed from his body and his mink coat clinging desperately to one shoulder. Klinger felt naked as his tags tapped his hairy chest. He wasn’t the type to be shy of his own physique but, well, he wasn’t what Hawkeye normally chased after. Men? Yes, of course, but he wasn’t BJ or Trapper. Hawkeye went for tall, blonde, and repressed. Maxwell was short, dark, and so blatantly queer that he was lucky everyone thought he would do anything to get a Section 8. Which, he would, but not go so far as to be thrown into the stockades.

Careful fingers brushed a Qtip across the stinging flesh of his shoulder and he sucked in a deep breath. It didn’t hurt. Hell, he’s been through way worse in Toledo. Especially with no money to get patched up afterward. He really could’ve done this himself but a chance to have Hawkeye’s hands on him—fuck, he’d have been stupid not to take it.

But now he had to make a move.

Klinger lifted his gaze to the doctor and his brown eyes softened. A small dash of worry pinched Hawkeye’s brow and Klinger knew some of it was for him, a little for the weather, and a lot of it for anyone but himself. He really was a selfless man in most cases, and self harming on every occasion. It was sad for someone so loved to be so...tense. Klinger smiled softly as he resisted the urge to hold Hawkeye’s face and wipe away his worry. Instead, he tried to offer a distraction.

“How can I thank ya for pullin’ me through, doc?” he asked gently, trying to make his voice alluring. Not easy for a boy from Toledo where every form of communication never fell short of a holler.

Hawk’s brow smoothed. His worries pushed aside with potential jokes. “I can’t remember a tougher case.”

The qtip was tossed aside. Long fingers wrapped around a smooth instrument and lifted a white pad, placing it gently across his bleeding wound. He knew Hawkeye didn’t touch it directly because he wanted to keep his contact with the cut to a minimum, and yet Klinger was saddened by the distance.

“Unless it was removing a kitten from my house slipper.”

This was getting him nowhere. Hawkeye would barely meet his gaze. He’d have to lay on the charm. That meant big, pathetic eyes and a hushed voice.

“Can’t describe the agony.”

Okay. It wasn’t so much charm as it was being pathetic. The best way to get a doc’s attention was to be hurt, after all. And he was hurtin’ _real_ bad. In his shoulder and his chest.

Hawkeye barely looked up from his work. “Uh-huh.”

Bastard wasn’t gonna make this easy for him. Oh well, he loved a challenge if the reward was good enough. Which in this case it definitely was.

“Shooting pains all down my arm.”

Nothing. Rats.

“My head is on fire.”

Tape squealed as it was pulled from the roll and ripped. Those wonderful fingers lightly grazed his shoulder, stealing his breath with every accidental touch, and secured the pad to his shoulder. All he needed were those blue eyes. Those damned blue eyes. He wanted to see them up close. To marvel at their beauty.

Klinger held up his hands and tapped his fingertips against his thumbs, fake panic rising in his chest. “I have no sense of touch! I think I got what Bette Davis had in Mrs. Skeffington!”

Fuck. Nothin’ could’a prepared him for those damn eyes. They were so light, the color of the sky when covered by a blanket of thin white clouds. They were always intense and piercing. Filled with rage or drowning in sorrow—didn’t matter. Those eyes cut Klinger every time.

Hawkeye blinked, tired of his antics. “Don’t move,” he said dryly, reaching out again with another strip of tape, “I’ll get Claude Rains. George Brent’s not available.”

Ah. Klinger’s heart squeezed. Hawkeye thought he was bucking for a Section 8. “Thanks for tryin’ to cheer up my morale, sir.”

Hands braced the front and back of his shoulder to press the tape to his skin. Then a miracle happened. The hand in front fell away, but the hand behind stayed. Bare skin against bare skin. A thumb stroking his shoulder and fingers cradling a portion of his back. Klinger had to resist the urge, the _need_ , to lean back into the contact with a groan. It was stupid to fall apart over such a simple touch. He knew that. He also never claimed to be smart, either.

“Klinger, it’s us! You don’t have to perform for me,” Hawkeye huffed.

Irritation. He’s seen that look in Hawkeye’s eyes before. He wasn’t interested in that. Lust. Love. Desire and desperation. That was the kinda shit he wanted to see. And he wanted to be the cause of it.

Despite his own wishes, Klinger felt himself fall back into old habits. His back straightened and he pushed out his chest, ready to play the ranting lunatic he wished he really was. That version of himself would be ballsy enough to pull Hawkeye into a kiss. “I will never surrender. This is my ticket! Now they gotta send me home, I’ve done my bit! I’ve been shackin’ up with rats, eatin’ swill on a shingle, and now my arm is half blown off!”

“Klinger, it’s just a scratch!”

“How do you know! What about tetanus?”

“Nah.”

Both hands were on him again. Patting the last strip of tape into place. Fingers combing through the dark, curly hairs on his chest by accident. It was getting hard to hold up the act.

“It could’a been a rusty bullet!”

“I’ll give you a shot.”

Well _that_ pulled him away from his fantasy. He was _not_ a fan of needles, no matter how much Hawk may touch him for it. “No! No shots,” Klinger tore his gaze away for a moment. He needed a second to think. “I’m-I’m allergic. Blow up like a balloon.”

Hawkeye huffed and pulled his hands away to fiddle with his scarf. “Then what do you want? A kiss?”

Name a better opportunity to arise.

A wide grin split across Klinger’s face. “Now there’s an idea, cap’n. A _good_ idea.”

Hawkeye paused again. Only this time, when emotion seeped back into his face, it was _bashful_. It wasn’t lust or love, but hell. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“What—?”

“C’mon, doc. If you think it’ll help, I’d like to have it.” Klinger’s eyelids lowered and his voice dropped, deep and smooth as he smiled. “ _I_ think it’ll help. Might answer a few of my questions, too. Like how soft are your lips? And do you cling to your partner while you kiss, or do ya hold ‘em?”

Hawkeye was so used to being the one to flirt first that a few little quips thrown in his direction made him blush and stammer, fingers digging into his scarf.

“I didn’t think you’d be the shy type, _sir_ ,” Klinger teased.

Just as he had always thought, that word pushed a deeper blush onto Hawkeye’s cheeks as he scowled.

“Shut up, Klinger. I just wasn’t expecting it. This...it came out of nowhere,” Hawkeye said defensively.

Klinger laughed even as butterflies armed with knives rolled in his stomach. This was such a risk and risk wasn’t his forté. “Yeah. Like I didn’t drop a hundred hints within the past five minutes. Y’know, I’m still tryin’ to come up with a way to thank ya,” he chuckled.

Hawkeye gawked. “What! How was I supposed to know that you were flirting! Patients say that to me all the time!”

“To be fair, I think some of them meant it the same way I did,” Klinger said.

It was true. Some of the boys that came through couldn’t keep their eyes off Hawkeye. Or BJ. Not that he blamed them. Especially not when it came to Hawkeye. Deliriously funny. Handsome but not in a boring, conventional way. So tall, Klinger had to crane his neck back even while sitting. Selflessly kind to the point of self destruction. A living, breathing anti-hero. Just like the comics but better. Better because he was _real_. Klinger could reach out and feel that pale skin under his fingertips. He could potentially feel that body under him. Over him. _Against_ him. In his arms. In his care. Better, because what Hawk did held _real_ impact and actually mattered. It was difficult not to idolize him. Sure, Klinger knew he had faults. Hawkeye had a _lot_ of faults, but it was impossible for Klinger not to love him more for it.

Hawkeye hadn’t moved for what felt like hours. His whole body was still, even his eyes, but Klinger could see his thoughts. Frantic as they scrambled for all the pieces of the puzzle. Pros and cons surely circling throughout his mind. Klinger crossed his ankles and his fingers clutched the table he sat on. Risk was bad enough. Waiting was even worse! It’s not like he could push Hawkeye, though. The doc was seeing him in a new light. Pressuring someone to do something they might not want to do wasn’t Klinger’s thing. He wasn’t the damn army. They both have been forced to do more than any man should in a lifetime.

“Captain...Hawkeye, you can say no. I ain’t gonna die,” Klinger said carefully. Blue eyes met brown and Klinger smiled. “Really. I’ll be fine, Hawk. I know I ain’t yer type.”

Hawkeye’s brow furrowed. “That’s...that’s not it, Klinger—um, Maxwell.”

“Max, if you want,” Klinger offered.

He tried it, “Max.”

A shiver rushed down Klinger’s spine, reminding him that he was still topless. His name, his _first_ name, on those lips. Spoken by that deep, warm voice. That was filed away for later use in a safe little part of his brain that no one else could touch. Fuck, if that were only enough for him then they could’ve avoided this whole embarrassing mess. Unfortunately, it would never be enough. Klinger felt _greedy_. He wanted Hawkeye’s voice for himself. Wanted those blue eyes watching his every move. _Needed_ to feel those beautiful, life-giving hands on his own, cupping his face and pulling him close as if terrified to lose him. 

“Max, it’s not that you aren’t my type. I never thought you were...you know, interested. And I—.” Hawkeye chewed his lip.

“Got wrapped up in unavailable men?” Klinger asked with a broad smile to show he didn’t mean any harm.

Hawkeye matched his smile, if not a little shy. “Yeah. I know how to pick them, don’t I?”

“Hey, it’s easy t’fall for someone tall an’ handsome. I sure did.”

He said it so easily but his heart was hammering away at his chest. In fact, all he was sure that was left of him _was_ a heart. Beating and bursting with fear and hope. Klinger almost couldn’t meet his gaze; he was glad he did. Resolve filled those gorgeous blue eyes. All signs of uncertainty were wiped away. Long, lean legs carried Hawkeye around the table to face him head on. Klinger’s fingers curled tightly on the edge of the table, palms sweating when he recognized that look. It was the same look Hawkeye gave every girl before pulling them into his arms and kissing the life out of them. Or into them, depending on how someone looked at it.

“I hope you’re ready for your shot, Maxwell.”

Hawkeye’s voice was low. A gentle purr flooded Klinger’s body and urged a small whine to his throat. Hawkeye slipped closer. The ends of his scarf teased Klinger’s thighs and— _fuck_. He had to part his legs to let Hawkeye get close enough. If they were doing this while sitting down he’d be in Hawkeye’s _lap_. Straddling him and grinding—Klinger bit his tongue to stop the image. He didn’t need to get that damn excited from a kiss. He wasn’t _that_ pathetic.

“As, uh, as long as yer gentle, sir.”

He couldn’t breathe. A lecherous smile spread across Hawkeye’s scarred lips as he leaned in. Their noses almost touched—which usually wasn’t saying much since they both had decent sized noses, but he could feel Hawkeye’s breath on his skin. The rough texture of Hawkeye’s scarf and jacket tickled his torso. The _heat_ rolled off his body. Klinger should be cold himself; instead, he felt like he was on fire.

“Better call me Hawkeye, Max. If this shot goes well enough, you’ll definitely need to learn my name. I take a lot of cues on how it’s said,” Hawkeye teased with that childish and excited little lilt in his voice.

Max couldn’t find a response. He couldn’t even find his _voice_. A warm palm cupped his cheek, cradling his face as if he were priceless. A second hand joined the first and held his face with genuine care. Thumbs stroked his skin. Fingers played with the ends of the black hair tucked behind his ears. The contrast of their skin was more evident than ever. A deep desert tan and soft snow white. Hell, they contrasted on everything but the color of their hair, but there were differences in that as well. Maxwell could see dashes of grey hair slipping out from Hawkeye’s beanie. He would’ve reached out to touch them, as he had always longed to do, but he feared ruining the moment. Terrified that any movement could scare Hawkeye away.

He worried over the stupidest things.

The dreams and fantasies Max had about kissing Hawkeye were nothing compared to the real thing. Hawk was slow and gentle with the first kiss. A soft brush as if to test the waters. The second was similar, and Max was trembling with _need_. Eager to pull the man closer and get _more_. He felt Hawkeye’s stubble. Felt that small scar on his lip. He felt everything, but he wanted to _taste_ and damn it, they were in the middle of a war! Three measly miles from the front lines! Everyone was painfully aware of how short life could fucking be and there’s no way in hell he was gonna die before holding Hawkeye in his arms.

Wide hands caught Hawkeye’s coat and yanked on the weak material, their lips crashing like waves on the shore. Teeth clicked. His lip split. Tongues clashed, both of them fumbling to find rhythm. It was messy, maybe even a catastrophe, but to Maxwell it was perfect. A groan rolled from Hawkeye’s throat and long fingers slipped further into Klinger’s hair, fisting the dark locks as they shared the same breath. Just yesterday Max had told himself that if he got one little kiss from Hawkeye that would be all he ever needed. It was a damn lie. One kiss wasn’t enough. Not after hearing the cute whimpers and moans Hawkeye released every time their lips met. One embrace wouldn’t be enough, either.

Hawkeye’s hand fell from Max’s cheek and blindly shoved the coat from his shoulder, fingers digging into flesh. A playful growl slipped from Max’s smirking lips. He tugged harder on Hawkeye’s coat and used his position to his advantage, locking his legs around Hawkeye’s hips. _Oh yeah_. Hawk was enjoying this as much as he was. He _felt_ it. To test his theory, Max rocked his hips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hawkeye gasped into their kiss, pulling back with an unsteady smile, “That’s a dirty trick.”

“Emphasis on _dirty_ ,” Klinger teased and rolled his hips again. That time they both moaned.

“Fuck, Max, don’t do that,” Hawkeye whined. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together gently while cradling Maxwell’s head. The action pulled a deep blush to Klinger’s cheeks. “I’ve got to get back and I can’t do that with a third leg. At least not comfortably and without getting weird looks.”

“That’s the idea, sir.” He didn’t want Hawkeye to leave. Not now. But Hawkeye was needed. His legs dropped from lean hips and dangled off the steel table. As much as Max needed him to stay, a patient was sure to need him more.

He must’ve had a look on his face because Hawkeye chuckled and kissed him again, brief and sweet. “Don’t pout like that. Once everything calms down and I get a few hours of sleep in me, we’re _definitely_ picking up where we’ve left off.”

His whole face had to be red, now. “You better take me out on a nice date, first. I don’t sleep with just anyone, y’know,” Klinger replied. As if Hawkeye hadn’t hung the damn moon in his eyes. There wasn’t much he wouldn't let Hawk get away with.

“Wear your best dress. Something that’ll drive me wild, which won’t be too hard. I’m already halfway there,” Hawkeye purred. He held Klinger’s face and kissed him once more, pulling a longing sigh from Max’s chest. When he pulled back, blue eyes were sparkling. “And I’ll take you out on the town. We’ll paint every tent red.”

Klinger laughed, easing into Hawkeye’s lovely hands. “Okay, okay. It’s a date.”

Fuck. Saying those words alone...it was indescribable.

Hawkeye smiled. “Good.”

They kissed again, this one a little deeper than the last. Neither wanted it to end. Luckily, it didn’t have to.


End file.
